In The Cold Light Of Morning
by Mizz Moneypenny
Summary: Mild Slash. He walked away from you when you needed him most a bloody, unconscious wreck. Contains graphic scenes and storylines not suitable for everyone. One shot. Please R&R!


Ok, still don't own any of the characters in this story - some are property of World Wrestling Entertainment and Vincent Kennedy McMahon. Another is property of Total Non-Stop Action.

This story contains graphic car accidents and other unpleasant ideas. Turn away now if you are sensitive to this or mild slash.

Also, I do NOT under any circumstances wish the ideas written in this story to come true AT ALL.

Thank you and please, don't forget to review and, if you can;

Enjoy!

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Pain speared through his body; a lightening bolt, crashing through his insides, tearing his organs to shreds, leaving him breathless as he tried desperately to regain some sort of composure. Pushing the expanded, air filled bag away from his chiselled face, he blinked; his blue, crystal eyes hazy and expressionless. He had no idea where he was. In fact, he had no idea _who_ he was.

Clearing his throat, he found it impossible to avoid the horrid taste of iron; the taste of blood. His _own_ blood. Upon that thought, he tried hastily to jolt his body up to an sitting position, to survey the situation a little better. Alas, he couldn't. The agony was too excruciating for words.

Grunting, he neck was stiff, unable to move. 'Shit'. He mused. Under normal circumstances, he would casually grab his painkillers, tossing a couple carelessly to the back of his throat. In minutes, he would feel rejuvenated. However, something told him this time that wasn't to be the case...

Sniffing the air, the putrid smell of rotting flesh filled his nostrils; trapped inside hair and mucus, a whiff of burning accompanied it, making the Olympic Gold Medallist act fast, unravelling the seat belt from his aching body, he clutched his head; his sore, blood stained head.

As the feeling returned to his limbs, he began to remember where he was, who he was and what he was doing precisely in the middle of no-where in the dead of night. The stars being the only sign of light and life to guide him. Yet, he couldn't move. His mind was pacing. 'Come on!' he urged himself, thumping his legs aggressively. He had never been a patient person, far from it. He had to have everything there and then or life couldn't possibly be worth living, not without the satisfaction of challenge, and a new one at that.

But, with each slam, the sensation slowly returned to his thighs. Then his knees and calves, finally to his feet. Now, it was time to escape. And fast.

Groaning, he stopped to notice the wrecked environment he was enclosed in; bones in a coffin. He was in the drivers seat. The air bag had opened, quite possibly the reason that he was still alive; still inhaling every bit of oxygen that he could muster, filling his lungs to the up most, savouring every moment that he may have left.

Suddenly, he screamed like a young, naive girl discovering a money spider in her bed, or someone jumping out on a friend to rid them of a bad case of hiccups. Yet, this wasn't a creepy crawly. This wasn't some sort of practical joke. This was _very_ real. Too real for words.

"Shawn." the Wrestling Machine gasped, his attentions fully focused on the blonde, Texas native laying motionless beside him. Twisting his body as painlessly as he possibly could, he tried desperately to get a pulse. Nothing.

"Don't you dare give up on me!" he pleaded, his voice becoming whiney and alarmed as he searched his brain for inspiration.

Violently shaking the Heartbreak Kid, he couldn't wake him up. Despite his yelling, he just couldn't awaken him. Not at all.

Once again inhaling the ash, TNA's latest prodigy became edgy. He began to panic. What was he meant to do? He knew that they'd be dead within the next few minutes if they stayed here. But, he couldn't concentrate; the pain that had wracked his body for years, being thrown about a wrestling ring on a weekly basis was like being thrown onto a new, incredibly soft feather bed compared to this.

Breathing deeply, he laid his head against the Showstoppa's firm yet crimson stained chest. He could just about distinguish a faint heart beat, filling him with some sort of hope. "Wake up, buddy." he begged, taking his hand in his, jerking Shawn's arm, trying to bring some sort of life to the former World Heavyweight Champion. Still nothing.

"For fuck's sake!" the Wrestling Machine snarled, gritting his teeth in exasperation. "This is all my fault, I know it is. Please help me God!" he implored the higher authority, frustration clouding his visions, pounding the dashboard for some sick sense of release. To make him feel less of a failure.

He spied Shawn's body as best he could, searching for any sign of movement, trying to figure out what injuries his friend had endured.

Abruptly, there was a sight that made him sick to his stomach, a sight that he would never forget in all his years of natural born life; a plank of damp, splintered wood impaling the Heartbreak Kid through the abdomen, fastening him to his seat, forcing him to be trapped inside this...this hell hole.

Grasping his mouth, the Olympic Gold Medallist stumbled from the vehicle, opening the door in time to remove the contents of his gut. As he retched harder and harder, Shawn's pain somehow transferring to him, he couldn't get enough out. He wanted to feel empty, so empty that he really was feeling his best friend's pain, hoping to capture it from him.

Finishing, he took another look at Michaels. He closed his eyes, his hands pressed harshly against his sockets in a bid to forget the images next to him, leaning back against the chair, shaking his spinning head. He couldn't bear this. He just couldn't. From what he could make out, a cut down tree had crashed through the window screen, piercing Shawn's frame. It certainly didn't look pleasant.

The next thing he would do would shock the Wrestling Machine himself, something that he knew would haunt him for the rest of his days, possibly until he entered the after life and maybe beyond.

He walked away.

Turning his head only faintly, so he could see the image from the corner of his eye over his shoulder, he observed the ruined, red Ford Focus one last time. Hobbling as fast as he could away from the site, his mind was dazed; What the bloody hell was he doing? Leaving a man to die? Surely not?

He couldn't face the Heartbreak Kid. He knew he couldn't. He knew that he wouldn't be able to free him from the car on his own, right? He simply didn't have the upper body strength to do so. After all, Shawn _was_ fastened to the seat. Any sudden movement at all could result in him haemorrhaging to fatality, wouldn't it? Besides, they were stuck in the middle of no where. Even if he _did_ call an ambulance at this very instance, there was no guarantee that they'd be able to find them, let alone help, of course?

"You're doing the right thing. You're doing the right thing." he repeated time and time again dubiously to himself, as if it was his new affirmation. After all, for his sake, he really didn't want his last memories of his amigo to be lying in a hospital bed, drips inserted in every vain possible, the sound of a ventilator barely - just barely - keeping him alive.

Hurrying, the Wrestling Machine glanced up; the crisp, white light of the moon cast an inverted shadow over his heart. As the heavy rain spat down upon him, he shuddered; someone prematurely walking over his grave. Delving his hands into his trouser pockets, he looked to his feet, exhaling once again. Partly for the need to remove traces of ash from his lungs. Partly in disgust.

He stood still for a few moments, recollecting everything him and Shawn had done together over the past few years. How their feud and his move from Smackdown had brought the two close. In fact, some would say, too close for comfort. But, his memories couldn't help but be eclipsed by tonight's recollections. Just why him and the Showstoppa' were even in that car at all together...

- - - - - - - - - -

The hoards of people could be heard cheering and screaming at the top of their voices, even in the depths of the locker room. D Generation X - long time best friends Shawn Michaels and Paul Levesque, more commonly known as Triple H - had just defeated Edge and Randy Orton at a house show in a Street Fight tag team match, scoring the pinfall on the Legend Killer with a little Sweet Chin Music, followed by a harsh Pedigree on a steel chair, causing the youngest Orton to be busted open from ear to ear.

Congratulating each other, the buddies made their way back to the locker room, their arms laced contently around each other, wanting nothing more than to get a refreshing, warm shower -complete with their favourite Original Source gels - before heading off for a good evenings rest. Alas, one man didn't have that in mind at all.

Pausing as they reached their locker room, Hunter asked whether Shawn would like a cool bottle of mineral water. Upon his positive answer, Triple H patted his mates arm before wandering off in search of the beverages. Humming to himself, the Heartbreak Kid strolled into the locker room, flicking the light switch on. He nearly jumped out of his skin, realising that he wasn't alone.

"Kurt Angle, what are you doing here?" he quizzed, trying to get his breath back. Shock, adrenaline and a tired body were not the best mixture at any time, especially not after a thirty minute wrestling match.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you." the Wrestling Machine apologised, looking up, searching for Shawn's beautiful, greeny-blue eyes.

"That wasn't the question." the Showstoppa' replied, in an almost bitter tone, marching over to his duffle bag, searching for his newly washed, fluffy, burgundy towel.

The Olympic Gold Medallist eyes followed the Heartbreak Kids physique, glued to his body. "Why do you think I'm here?" he questioned eventually, a shade of sarcasm staged.

"I have no idea. What are you doing here?" Mr. Michaels queried, wanting to be the one to do all of the questioning, if there were to be enquiries at all.

"To see you of course." Angle sincerely stated, seeing Shawn's eyes roll in an unconvinced fashion.

"Whatever." he muttered, taking his bathing kit with him, bundling it entirely and ungracefully in his muscular arms, turning away from the Wrestling Machine.

As he strode over to the cubicles, Kurt leapt from the wooden bench he was sat on, following him as quickly as he could. Knocking into HBK, his paraphernalia fell to the ground, Shawn trying his best not to curse at this. Kurt, kneeling to help his supposed friend, was rewarded with Shawn snatching his belongings back in an ungrateful manner, both standing at the same time.

"We need to talk." Kurt mumbled, watching the other mans expressions change rapidly from that of assertiveness to annoyance.

"Really?" Shawn quizzed ironically, getting one leg in the shower.

"Please?" Kurt begged, holding the shower curtain open, his eyes wide and puppy dog like.

"You can't come in here." Shawn snapped, closing the flimsy, moulding shower curtain away from Angle, beginning to remove his wrestling attire. However, Kurt was to be more persistent than imaginable.

"I know you're mad at me but...but please, we need to talk. I'm only asking for half an hour of your time. Please?" Kurt softly spoke, Shawn now sort of accepting how unreasonable he had been with the six time WWE and World Heavyweight Champion.

"Fine," Shawn sighed, just his face reappearing from behind the curtain, Kurt's stomach feeling a sense of hope fill inside. "But for half an hour only. Go and wait in your car and I'll come and see you in a little while." the Icon instructing, continuing with his business.

- - - - - - - - - -

After a thoughtful shower and some explaining of his future where-abouts to Paul, Shawn strolled from the arena, searching for Kurt's car. He, himself, couldn't remember what type, or make, it was. The only detail remained was that it was silver, quite large in size and very powerful.

Suddenly, a motor pulled up beside him, shocked at who was driving it.

"What are you doing just looking?" The Olympic Gold Medallist questioned in haste. "Get it."

"Sorry, I didn't recognise it..." Shawn began, heaving his body inside the automobile, slinging his duffle bag onto the backseat.

"No, you wouldn't do. It's new."

"It doesn't seem that new." the Heartbreak Kid contended, pulling the stained seatbelt over his lap, trying not to place his finger tips on the sticky marks; a sordid, sickly mixture of carbonated drinks and sweets.

"Well, new to me." Kurt replied, pulling away from the car park. "I gave up my Land Rover. Not economical enough."

"Oh and this thing is?" Shawn sarcastically quarrelled, spying the black smoke ploughing from the exhaust in the cracked wing mirror.

"Ok, look, it's a car, alright?" Angle raised his voice, changing gears dramatically.

"Sorry." the Icon sighed, running a hand through his damp, dirty blonde hair.

Winding down the moss encrusted window on his side of the vehicle, Kurt exhaled heavily, realising that the man sat next to him wouldn't stay very long if he didn't talk. "So, uh, how was your match this evening?"

"Good." Shawn's answer was swift and accurate, a reflection on his current state of mind. Fatigue was the main cause of such angst, yet, having one of your best friends just magically re-appear in your life after ignoring all modes of communication for over a month did, unsurprisingly, add a certain sense of anger to the proceedings.

Detecting Shawn's thoughts to perfection, Kurt knew that an explanation was needed. "Don't take it personally." he implored, gazing for a split second from the window, darkness clouding his vision. "It wasn't you I was ignoring..."

"So, who are you ignoring?" Shawn quizzed, resting his arm on the ledge, leaning his head against his clenched right fist.

"Nobody in particular." the Wrestling Machine responded honestly. "I just needed space..."

"Space?" Michaels tutted, shaking his head in ignorance. "I can't believe you."

"Why?"

"Well, you leave us, claiming that you need time to heal your body."

"Yes."

"Then we get the shock of our lives when we read that you're in TNA..."

"Shawn, you have no idea what was said in that final meeting I had with Vince." Kurt's voice became softer, urging himself not to get infuriated.

"I know I don't, but what Vince has been saying..."

Kurt's head spun in the direction of the Icon. "Just what has Vince been saying?"

"Well, how you are abandoning us, but that he doesn't mind. He just cares that you are not resting and that your body's getting worse and worse."

"Bullshit." Kurt spat, his blood beginning to boil.

"What is?"

"That. Vince told me that Gold Medals and cups of coffee meant jack shit." Angle seethed, tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

"I'm sure he didn't mean it." Shawn attempted to reason, his voice calmer.

"Didn't he?" Kurt asked earnestly, glancing at HBK for a few moments before re-focusing his attention on the road.

An awkward silence settled over the atmosphere in the beaten up car; both men staring impassively out of the windows, lost in their own private thoughts about the other.

Inhaling, Shawn began to speak. "You know, your body, it won't go on forever."

"Says the person that has just signed a five year, multi-million dollar deal with a wrestling promotion, renowned for not giving their workers time off when they really need it?" Kurt quarrelled in disbelief, rolling his eyes in sarcasm. "How long have you needed that knee surgery for, huh?"

"_That's irrelevant."_

"_Then again, I do use the term wrestling promotion most loosely..." _

"Now who's spreading bs, huh?" the Heartbreak Kid returned the favour, forcefully jerking his body upright, sitting up in the passengers seat. "Vince and the WWE have been good to you over the past six years."

"Yeah, sometimes." the Wrestling Machine shrugged, nodding his head in a mocking way. "It was probably all a mistake though..."

"**All** a mistake?" Shawn exclaimed, his voice eager to get an answer.

"Well, the vast majority of it anyway." Kurt continued, knowing exactly where the conversation was to be directed.

After a few minutes, the Icon broke the uncomfortable silence. "Meaning us?"

"I didn't say that..."

"No but you are implying it, aren't ya?"

Angle never answered that question. Rubbing his temples, he absent mindedness urged him to continued his rant. "Karen found out...about us. Lets just say she isn't best pleased." he persistent, before HBK could interrupt.

"There is no 'us'." Shawn argued, shaking his head in a defeatist manner.

"What?" Kurt barely spoke, hurt by the last statement.

"You heard. There is no 'us'." the Showstoppa' repeated, watching the Olympic Gold Medallists nostrils flare. "Sure, it was good. While it lasted. To be honest, I prefer my wife."

"That's crap as well! The reason we started this...this love thingy was that we needed a break from our nagging wives, remember, or was it all so insignificant that you forgot?" Kurt reminisced negatively, revving the motor once again, preparing the motor vehicles voyage up a steep hill.

"We started this affair because of uncontrollable lust. Nothing more, nothing less." Shawn clarified, as wounded by his last statement as he knew the man sat beside him would be. He decided to move swiftly on from his last comments. "You can't drive up here. The car won't manage it."

"So you do recognise it as a car then?" Kurt sullenly spoke.

"Kurt, it's not safe up here. Please, at the next point turn around and drive back down."

"Why?"

"Because, like your body, the cars too unstable. It won't last the journey up here."

His eyes ablaze, Kurt Angle's mouth shaped into a crooked, evil grin. "Just watch us." he told, speeding as quickly as he possibly could, rain beginning to splutter abruptly from the moon lit skies.

"Kurty, please, listen to me." Shawn implored, his voice becoming frantic and agitated, escorted with a pet name that was only used in time of extreme anxiety or, on the other hand, extreme love.

"No."

"Stop being so damn stubborn and listen." Shawn told, trying to keep calm, grasping the sides of the seat for support. "The weather's becoming quite rough, you need to stop until it subsides a little."

"Not fucking likely!" the Machine continued; his own world of disillusioned dominance consuming every bit of logic that the Heartbreak Kid offered to him.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a copious car sped down the same narrow road the red Ford Focus was travelling on.

Grabbing onto the steering wheel, the Icon shrieked. "For God's sake do some..."

Then, it all went black for both men; the smashing of glass like a thousand icicles, the strident thumps of lifeless bodies against the dashboard and as they smashed back to the seats. The callous pitter patter of rain alongside the surface accompanied the immediate trickling of blood from their bodies; an ever flowing river with no means of halting. Especially not for one of them.

- - - - - - - - - -

Shuddering, he spied his face in the puddle below him; a blood stained, bruised and possibly broken face, embodying that of a tortured soul. He didn't recognise himself. He did not acknowledge this... this sinner.

How could he have honestly left a man to die? Why did he leave that great, lovable man to die? Sure, he had his faults. Sure, some would dislike him purely for his former ego problems and in ring finesse. Yet, no one would want to see this happen to him. Not even his worse enemy.

"What the fuck have I done?" Kurt cried, his body crumpling in a heap on the ground. Tears streaming down his face. His voice weakened by his own thoughts. "I'm sorry...so sorry." he sobbed relentlessly, his emotions too overwhelming to be kept inside.

After a few moments, he began to build his strength back. 'This isn't me,' he demanded himself. "This isn't the Kurt Angle. This isn't the man I am." he gasped, returning to his feet, searching himself up and down.

Despite the merciless, ruthless agony, he ran, ran back to where his friend lay. Back to where the man he once was - and possibly still is - passionately in love with. The man who he adored to curl up next to in bed whilst away from home sharing their minds with each other, and everything else they had to offer. Away from the hassle and inconvenience of their families. Away from the hear say and horrid gossip. Away from the rest of the world.

Finally, his aching body managed to crawl back to the site of the car, the break of dawn leading him back to the hostile heap of metal before him. It may have taken him longer than hoped but, as ever, he was determined to make it back.

Panting, Kurt Angle urged himself to keep going, to be reunited with his lover. On all fours, he hauled himself up with the help of the car door, his fingers creeping over the window pane, ready to help the man he cared so much about inside. Then he made the shocking discovery...

The car - It was empty.

- - - - - - - - - -

Hey, thank you for reading. I really would appreciate it if you would take the time to give me some feedback, please.

Also, I'm not a Kurt Angle hater. Far from it. Whatever he chooses to do with his life now, as a fan, I can only support it. Whatever your views are on the situation are your own and I respect that.

I, like everyone else, don't know what was said at the meeting the day Kurt was released. This story is based on some of the information I have managed to find.

Please review!


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